Chapter 1
Cami
I was practically screaming now. "For God's sake, will youpleasestop the car!"
The roads were slick with snow, and I was in the middle of the back seat. In thefrontseat were two strangers in ski masks – one male and one female.
The male was behind the wheel, and the female was in the passenger's seat, craning her neck to stare behind us.
And the vehicle?Technically, it belonged to my boss – one Mason Blastoviak, who wasn't known for being a nice guy.
Whether these idiots realized it or not, they'd picked the wrong vehicle to car-jack.
I took a deep, calming breath and tried again. "Seriously, just stop the car, alright?"
With a sarcastic snort, the female said, "It's not a car. It's an SUV, remember?"
Of course I remembered.It was, after all, the vehicle I drove as part of my job. But that wasn't the point.
I told her, "You called it a car first." And shehad, like ten minutes ago when she and her companion had caught me by surprise.
"Yeah, well you called it onelast."
"It doesn't matter what we call it," I said. "You still need to stop."
From the driver's seat, the guy said, "Shut up! You've got no say in this."
The female turned to face him. "You'd better be talking toher."
"I'm talking to both of you," he said. "Now, zip it! I'm trying to drive."
Oh, for God's sake.Did I really need to say it?"You wouldn'tneedto drive if you'd just pull over."
He glanced in his rear-view mirror and cursed under his breath. "I can't. He's gaining on us."
Of course he was.Mason's car was a sleek turbo-charged sedan with eight cylinders and a lot of horses under the hood.
But this vehicle?It was a big orange SUV with a whole lot of safety features, but not a lot of power. On the upside, itdidhave four-wheel drive, which gave us a huge advantage on the slick roads.
Mason would've surely caught up with us already, if only his own vehicle weren't more suited for hot dry pavement – andnota snow-covered country road in the middle of a raging blizzard.
Still, it was only a matter of time.
I told the driver, "You can't outrun him, you know."
He yelled back, "Didn't I tell you to shut up?"
"Don't you get it?" I said. "He thinksWillow'sin the car."
"Willow who?"
"Willow Blastoviak. His little sister."
Willow was only eight years old and as cute as a button.Man, I loved that kid.
I said a silent prayer of thanks that shewasn'tin the vehicle.
And shewould'vebeen, if only my best friend – who happened to be the fiancée of Mason's brother – hadn't taken Willow for an impromptu bake-a-thon earlier this afternoon.
